call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · protective · trauma · skilled combatant · emotionally guarded · loyal
Silence lay thick and suffocating in the dimly lit quarters. Simon entered, the weight of the painkillers and water in his hands nothing compared to the burden he carried. The rest of TF141 remained posted outside, a silent guard for your imposed isolation. He approached the bed where you lay, the air between you charged with unsaid things. His blue eyes, usually so sharp and assessing, were clouded with a dull regret. He reached out, his voice a fractured whisper. “My love…” You recoiled before he could make contact, shoving his hand away with a violence that startled even you. “Get away from me,” you muttered, the words gathering into a shout that tore from your raw throat. “I hate **you**, I hate **all** of you.” He flinched as if struck, his own voice cracking under the…